Mess Is Mine
by jj.glitter
Summary: AU - Sherlock Holmes learns just how bittersweet life can be, as he stumbles through his teenage years. But when Sherlock is introduced to John Watson by a mutual friend, everything changes. Side note: Some sections of this story are based on true events, though the characters stay fictional. Obviously the characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**.

"I'm going to let go now, Sherlock."

"No!" Cried the small boy, who was clinging to the bicycle with all his strength. The older man chuckled at his son's wariness.

"Oh come on now, son. This is very out of character for you." Mr Holmes spoke kindly. He looked down at his son questionably. "What happened to my brave, little boy?"

Sherlock's shoulders dropped down in defeat. "But father, this is scary. Why do I have to ride without stabilizers? I can't do it!"

"Now now, what do we Holmes's say about that word?" Sherlock's father pressed, though still attempting to encourage his son.

The seven year old sighed, the curls on his forehead bouncing as he looked up to his elder. "There's no such thing as can't." He mumbled. Sherlock knew his father was right, he always was.

Mr Holmes smiled down at his beloved son. He couldn't help but notice how much Sherlock reminded him of himself at that age. "That's my boy." He expressed proudly. "Now, come on. I know you can do this Sherlock. I believe in you." He watched as Sherlock picked himself back up and clutched onto the bicycle's handlebars. "Let's try again. All you have to do is keep pedaling. I'll let you go when I know you're ready."

Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded his head. His eyes squinted at the pavement in front of him, concentrating on the set task. _I can do this,_ he thought to himself. Sherlock felt his father hold onto the bike, just as Sherlock moved his feet to pedal. He breathed heavily as he tried to maintain his balance. _I can do this,_ he thought again. Sherlock pedaled forward towards the front of the driveway, near the peculiar gravestones with incorrect dates. The wind hit Sherlock's face, and the mop of hair on his hair blew gently with the breeze. Sherlock breathed in the countryside air. _Incredible_ , he thought.

The realisation that he was still moving hit him. _I'm doing it!_ He grinned, _I'm really doing it!_ Sherlock started giggling to himself, happy that he'd accomplished something that he'd originally been afraid of. Sherlock was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't realise that his father had let go of the bike, and was now watching him in awe.

"Sherlock! The brake, use the brake!" Mr Holmes called, as he noticed that his son was getting a little too close to the road for comfort. Sherlock nodded and started to slow down, cycling back to where his father stood. The small child came to a stop in front of the elder's feet. Sherlock jumped from the bicycle into his father's arms.

"I did it!" Sherlock cried in happiness. "I did it father! Did you see me?"

Mr Holmes chuckled at his son's excitement. "I did see, Sherlock. I knew you could do it!" The man wrapped his arms around the boy. "Well done, Sherlock." Mr Holmes whispered into his son's dark brown hair.

"I'm so proud of you."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 _Eight Years Later._

His eyelids opened, slowly letting the light flood his vision. He sighed as the sound of birds chirping outside his large bedroom window pierced his ears. His body felt dirty; he'd clearly been sweating through the night due to the warmth of the family home. The teenager groaned and rolled to his side, checking the time on his digital alarm clock. _06:32._ He exhaled disappointedly, he knew he had to get out of bed. Sherlock sat up sharply, feeling his shirt stick to his torso. He threw the covers away from him, almost desperate to let his body breathe. _Do I really have to suffer another day with those stupid humans?_ He asked himself, while rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up even more. Sherlock contemplated that thought for a couple of seconds more, before tutting and forcing himself to stand up. His pyjama trousers fell slowly to the floor from being bunched up to his knees for the majority of the night. He searched the room, his eyes locked on a white, cotton towel. He snatched the towel off the armchair that was propped up against the window. Sherlock turned and headed for the door. He yanked it open, the handle smacking against the wall, letting his family know that he was up.

Sherlock shuffled towards the bathroom, his eyes still partly closed due to the crusty sleep that has formed around them. He needed a shower. Just as he reached his destination, Sherlock was suddenly shoved into the wall, waking the teenager up completely.

"What the fu-"

"It seems that it is my turn to use the bathroom first, brother mine. You do take a terribly long time in the mornings. I suspect it's because you like to masturbate in the shower, as you think that no one can hear you if the water is running. Except that we can, quite clearly too. I would apologise for my intrusion but it would be a lie-I'm not sorry at all. Now, if you'll excuse me." The elder boy strutted into the bathroom.

"Mycroft! I swear if yo-" The door slammed in Sherlock's face.

Sherlock closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to swallow the anger that was close to erupting from inside his chest. He dropped the towel on the floor as he marched down the corridor to his parents' bedroom. _I can't wait until he moves out!_ He thought as he knocked on the bedroom door. He paused for a moment listening for a voice that granted him his entry to the room.

"Come in." Mr Holmes called. Sherlock stormed into the room. He folded his arms as his feet came to a halt at the bottom of the king-sized bed. Mr Holmes eyed his son over his glasses, noticing Sherlock was upset.

"What now?" He sighed as he put the newspaper he was read down on his lap.

"Mycroft's being insufferable. Again." Sherlock huffed.

"Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you? He's your brother, it's his job to annoy you."

"Well because he's doing his job _so well,_ I can't have a shower before I leave for school! So I'm really glad that you think this is acceptable. You must be so proud. _"_ Sherlock spat. Mr Holmes slowly reaches up to take his glasses off, before glaring at his youngest son.

"Sherlock." He warned, his voice stern and noticeably colder than before. "Don't start. Not today."

The teenager unfolded his arms and sat on the bed, his attitude changing. "I'm sorry." His forehead creased as he thought to himself.

Mr Holmes moved towards Sherlock, wrapping his arm over his shoulders. "I don't know why you let Mycroft get to you so much. You know he only presses your buttons because he knows you'll react. If you ignore him, he'll stop." He watched as Sherlock nodded in response.

"I know." Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

"You can use my shower, if needs must. There's a towel in the airing cupboard you can use. You need to stop letting temporary problems stress you out. Think of them as a little game instead. You'll be happier in the long run, I promise you." The elder spoke quietly, knowing his son needed this advice.

Sherlock smiled at his father. "Thank you, father. You always know what to say." Sherlock couldn't express how much he meant those words.

Mr Holmes watched his son as Sherlock stood and headed for the en suite bathroom. Sherlock suddenly stopped in his tracks as looked to his father.

"I love you." Sherlock said softly.

Mr Holmes's heart swelled at the words. "I love you too, son. To the moon and back." He smiled as Sherlock resumed his journey to the bathroom.

* * *

Sherlock fingered the buttons of his blazer, staring at himself in the mirror. He couldn't help but think about how horrific the day would be. The first day back at school meant nothing but insults from idiotic human beings, and classes that were pathetically easy. His brow furrowed as he thought deeper. _How long will it be before Mr Thomas puts me in detention for stating a couple of obvious facts?_ He smirked at the thought.

"You do realise that you're going to be late." Mycroft's voice sounded from the bedroom doorway.

Sherlock's head turned towards him. "Wrong. It's only quarter to eight. I'm not late yet."

"No, but you will be if you don't come down for breakfast soon. You know how much Mummy worries when you don't eat."

"Yes, but then she also worries that you eat too much, Mycroft." Sherlock tested his brother. "Speaking of which, how's the diet going?"

Mycroft's eyes squinted at him, daring him to continue. Once he realised that Sherlock wasn't going to test him further, Mycroft turned to walk to the kitchen. "Do hurry up, Sherlock." Mycroft called over his shoulder before walking away from his younger brother.

Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts. He glanced at the mirror once more. The fifteen year old boy ruffled the curls on top of his head, before following Mycroft's footsteps.

Sherlock strolled into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, to find his mother slaving away over the stove.

"Good morning, my boys!" She grinned. Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged looks. _She's chirpy._ "Do you want some breakfast?" Mrs Holmes gestured down to the frying pan in her hand. "I'm making pancakes, and there's tea and honey."

 _Ugh, too chirpy._

Mycroft plonked himself down at the table, his fingers lacing together in front of him. Sherlock followed, sitting in the chair next to his brother. The teenager put his feet up on the table.

"Mike?" She questioned. The name caused the boys to look at their mother.

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end." Mrs Holmes's mood faltered slightly, though she quickly recovered.

She sighed at her eldest child before speaking. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, though I'll only have a small amount if that's quite alright." Mycroft smiled politely at his mother. Mrs Holmes's eyes moved to Sherlock.

"What about y-William Sherlock Scott Holmes, get your feet off my table!" She cried, gasping at her son's bad manners. Mycroft glared at Sherlock, warning him not to upset her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes before moving his feet. He sat up straight in his chair. "Could you not use that God awful name?" Sherlock spoke through his teeth. He truly hated his birthname.

Suddenly, Mrs Holmes dropped the plate she was holding back onto the counter with a bang, making Mycroft jump. Sherlock just huffed in annoyance. _Here we go._

"You know, I was having such a lovely morning. Peaceful, even. But you two _had_ to go and ruin it!" She stared at the two brothers, accusing them both.

"Me?" Mycroft questioned. "I think you'll find it was Sherlock's fault."

"Oh shut up Mycroft, you think you're the smart one, but you're not." Sherlock grumbled.

"I am the smart one-"

"Shut up!" Mrs Holmes screamed angrily. The boys went silent in result. "I've had enough of the both of you." The woman shook her head as she turned the stove off. She suddenly looked exhausted. "Everyday. Every fucking day, I wake up and I come downstairs and make you two breakfast. We have staff that would happily do that for me, but no, I do it because I want to. I feel it's a time to bond with my children. Yet you two do nothing but argue and bicker, and it's exhausting. I'm tired of listening to it. I've had enough."

The two boys slouched in their chairs. It had been a long time since they'd heard their mother shout like that, and even then it was never aimed at themselves. Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, trying to read what his brother was thinking. But Sherlock's eyes never left his mother.

"Therefore," The elder woman eventually continued. "Things need to change." Her voice had softened but was still stern. Her eyes moved to her eldest son. "Mycroft, it's time for you to move out. You're twenty two years of age, now. It's time to act like it. Your father and I will help you with everything, and you know you'll always have a home here. But for now, it's time for you to go."

Mycroft watched his mother with uncertainty before nodding slowly. "If you insist." He agreed quietly.

"Thank you. You have until the end of the week. And you," Mrs Holmes's head snapped towards Sherlock. "I know you don't like people, but if your attitude in school does not change dramatically, well. Let's just hope we don't come to that."

Sherlock's heart sank. Nothing really got to him anymore, but seeing his mother like this was a close call. "Yes, mummy." He spoke in an almost whisper.

Mrs Holmes frowned at her sons. She glanced down at the cooling food in front of her. "Maybe," She shook her head. "Maybe if Eurus was still with us, things wouldn't be this way." She choked out, tears building up in her eyes. She breathed, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The boys' watched their mother's every move. For a small moment, all her emotions were on show. All cards were on the table. Sherlock coughed uncomfortably. Mrs Holmes snapped out of her thoughts at the sound, and looked up to her boys.

"Sherlock, you best get going." She stated, reverting back to her emotionless self. "Wouldn't want you to be late."

There was a long pause between the three relatives. The silence was deafening. Mrs Holmes nodded to herself before walking out of the kitchen. Sherlock and Mycroft watched her go, the quiet being broken by the dragging motion of her slippers on the floor.

Mycroft sighed, his hands coming up to rub his eyes. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, they were disturbed by their butler.

"Mycroft, Sherlock." He nodded to the boys and they returned the gesture. "Sherlock, are you ready to leave?" He asked.

Sherlock stood from the chair and nodded. "Yes, thank you David." Sherlock's voice came out raw. He cleared his throat and his mind before adding "Let's go."

The two left the kitchen, leaving Mycroft with his thoughts and the now cold pancakes.


	3. Chapter Two

Sherlock's head rested on top of his fingertips, his finger nails digging into the skin underneath his chin. His eyes were closed, letting everything around his disappear into a black abyss. Sherlock breathed softly, the smell of wood filling his nostrils. _Not long now._ He thought.

The school bell suddenly rang, piercing Sherlock's ears and intruding his relaxed profile. Sherlock stood from the desk and grabbed his bag from the floor next to him. The sound of teenagers beginning conversations filled the room, chairs scraping along the cheap flooring as they stood and headed out for their lunch break. Sherlock grunted but moved to join them all the same.

"Mr Holmes." The teacher called, causing Sherlock to glance up at him. The teacher nodded down at the table where Sherlock had been sat for the last hour. "Sit." He instructed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. The teacher walked around to the front of his desk and leaned onto it, folding his arms. He sighed before continuing. "Do I need to phone your parents again?"

Sherlock frowned. "I don't think so, Mr Jensen."

"Then I suggest that you start paying attention." Sherlock's brow furrowed deeper. Mr Jensen chucked. "What? You didn't think I'd notice? I'm many things Sherlock, but I'm not stupid."

"Yes you are." Sherlock said boldly. "Oh don't look at me like that, practically everyone is. It's nothing personal." He added after noticing the offended look on his teacher's face.

The teacher breathed deeply. "My point is, you come into my classroom, what? Three, four times a week, and you just sit there. You don't answer any questions, you don't join in on group discussions. Even when I put you all into groups, or pairs even, to do a project, you just _sit_ there." Mr Jensen pointed to where Sherlock was sitting. "You're always in the same position, too. Doing that hands under your chin thing. I just.." He sighed. "Is something wrong? Is it something at home or?" Sherlock didn't respond, and Mr Jensen realised he wouldn't get an answer for that. "Sherlock, you've got so much potential, but if you're not willing to learn-"

"I am willing to learn." Sherlock interrupted.

"But you don't _do_ anything!"

"I listen." Sherlock spoke calmly. The two stared at each other, almost daring the other to back down. Mr Jensen nodded before bowing his head in defeat.

"Alright." The elder stood up straight and headed for the door. He opened it and gestured with his hand for Sherlock to leave. The conversation was over.

Sherlock stood and moved towards Mr Jensen. "I appreciate your concern sir, but I assure you, I really don't need it." Sherlock spoke before disappearing into the crowd of rushing teenagers.

* * *

Sherlock got home from school that day, and went straight to his room. He threw his bag across the room and picked up his violin. He studied the instrument, letting his fingertips glide over the curves of the body. His hand moved to the tuning pegs, he twisted them and plucked at the strings to tune the violin. Sherlock grinned when he hit the correct note, before moving to play. He grabbed the bow and positioned his fingers carefully, he let the hairs drag across the instrument's strings, gaining a positive sound in return. Sherlock let his mind wander as he played. He suddenly remembered the events of the morning, and he began to question what happened. _Is Mycroft really moving out?_ He frowned at the thought. As much as he hated his older brother at times, it would be strange to not have him around.

Sherlock's thoughts were disrupted by a knock on his bedroom door. Sherlock jumped and settled his violin down. "Come in", he called out.

The door opened and Sherlock's mother poked her head around. "Hello, darling. How was school?" She asked as she walked into the room.

"It was fine, I guess." Sherlock shrugged. "Boring, but fine." Sherlock noticed how his mother closed the door behind her.

"And how are you feeling?" Mrs Holmes slowly sat down on the bed.

"I'm fine, mother." Sherlock joined her on the bed. "I promise." He assured her. Sherlock could tell that his mother was worried about him.

"That's good to hear." She smiled at her son.

There was a small silence before Sherlock spoke. "Does Mycroft really have to move out?"

"I'm afraid so, Sherlock. But don't worry, your father and I will keep an eye on him."

Sherlock nodded in response. "When does father finish work today?"

"I think he mentioned staying behind for a couple of hours, so I'm guessing ten. But knowing your father, he'll be home by nine." Mrs Holmes smiled at her son. "Right then," She began as she stood from the bed. "I best get dinner sorted. Anything in particular you fancy?" She turned to Sherlock.

"Not really, surprise me." Sherlock also stood, but headed towards his desk to use his laptop.

"Sounds good to me." Mrs Holmes smiled before heading back downstairs.

Sherlock smiled before turning his laptop on. It was always nice to have those conversations with his mother. They were only small, but it was almost like they were checking up on each other. The two were so much closer before Euros died, but after it happened, Sherlock and his mother drifted apart. Sherlock spent a lot more time with his father these days. But those small conversations made Sherlock feel like everything will be okay. Maybe not today, but one day.


	4. Chapter Three

"Boys! Dinner is ready!" Sherlock heard his mother call up the stairs. The sound broke his concentration and he sat back in his chair. Sherlock shook his head at the half written essay staring back at him. _I'm never going to pass this unit._ He thought to himself. _Who cares about the solar system anyway?_ Sherlock stood and stretched his limbs, waking his body from the position it had been in for the last hour and thirty minutes. Sherlock headed downstairs, following his mother's call. Just as he had closed his bedroom door, he was met with Mycroft.

"Sherlock. How was today?"

Sherlock huffed. "Ugh, please don't act like you care, Mycroft. You've never been any good with small talk."

"I'm perfectly good at small talk, Sherlock. It's just that you don't care for it." Sherlock grunted in response and stepped in line with his brother, walking down the stairs with him. Mycroft inhaled loudly. "What do you think it is today, then? Lasagna?"

Sherlock sniffed. "Seems so." He agreed. He looked up at his older brother and frowned, he still wasn't as tall as Mycroft. Sherlock didn't like that.

The two reached the bottom of the stairs and made their way into the kitchen. The kitchen looked rather clean considering their mother had slaved over a stove for the past forty five minutes or so. The dinner was all set out on the table ready, along with gleaming white plates and cutlery. The boys sat down in their usual places, leaving the head of the table for their father, who was currently not present. Sherlock looked down at the food that was presented in the middle of the table. _Lasagna, lucky guess._ He glanced at Mycroft across the table to see him smirking at the fact he's guessed correctly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's smugness.

Mrs Holmes dragged her chair back to join her children at the table, only to stop mid action. "Sherlock! You still have your uniform on." She stated and looked at him questioningly.

Sherlock noticed how Mycroft's head turned to stare at him. Sherlock smiled at his mother. "So I have, I've been so busy with my essay that I forgot to change." Sherlock looked at his mother innocently.

"That's okay. Take your blazer off though, I don't want you to get anything on it." There was a silence while Sherlock followed her instructions. "Now," she continued once Sherlock had finished. "Let's eat."

* * *

Once plates were empty and bellies were full, Mycroft was the first to speak. "That was lovely, mother. Thank you."

"You're very welcome Mycroft, it's a new recipe." She smiled while collecting all the dirty plates. "There's less fat in it, so you won't ruin your diet."

Mycroft frowned. "Wonderful." He commented flatly.

Sherlock stood and helped his mother clear the table, gesturing for his brother to do the same. Even though the Holmes family had more than enough money to hire people to cook dinner and wash up for them, they preferred to do it themselves. As Sherlock's grandparents would have said, _"Being well off is not an excuse to be lazy._ "

As the table cleared, Sherlock grabbed a kitchen towel to dry the plates. "You don't have to, Sherlock. Mycroft will do that. You've got homework." Mrs Holmes dismissed her son, and Sherlock obeyed and handed the towel to Mycroft. Sherlock ignored Mycroft's protest and headed back upstairs.

Sherlock got back to his room and breathed deeply, closing the door behind him. The curly headed boy walked over to his school bag and dug his hand into it, rummaging through the books and pencils until he found what he was looking for. Sherlock grabbed his mobile phone and dropped down onto the bed. He realised he hadn't checked it all day. Sherlock woke the screen to see that there were no texts or notifications, there was nothing. Except for one little message, from someone named Mike Stamford. Sherlock frowned at the screen. That was weird, no one usually messaged him. Sherlock unlocked his phone and went onto the app to see what exactly "Mike" had to say.

 ***ONE NEW MESSAGE***

 **Mike Stamford:** _Hi Sherlock, I meant to catch you after chemistry but you were too quick haha! It seems that Mr Thomas has put us together for the project he gave us today, remember? Anyway, if you want to meet up any time during the week, that's cool. Just message me a time and day that suits you and I'll let you know!_

Sherlock scoffed at the message and began to type.

 **Sherlock Holmes:** _Of course Mr Thomas would put me with someone less intelligent than I, but I guess there's no negotiating with him for this project. Let's get one thing straight Mike, you need to pass this class and I have the brains to do it, so why don't you just let me do everything on my own? I prefer to work on my own accord and, quite frankly, you're too slow to keep up._

Sherlock pressed send and tapped off the app to go onto Facebook. Sherlock never posted anything himself, but it was always entertaining to see what his pathetic acquaintances were gossiping about. Just as Sherlock began to scroll down his news feed, his phone buzzed, notifying him that he'd received a reply from Mike. Sherlock looked at the new message.

 ***ONE NEW MESSAGE***

 **Mike Stamford:** _As much as I resp_ _ect your decision Sherlock, I think it's safer if we stick to the rules of the assignment and do it together._

Sherlock exhaled deeply and typed out a reply of _"Whatever you wish"_ before pressing send. Sherlock didn't have the patience for stupid people. Sherlock dropped the phone next to him onto the bed, and he folded his arms and stared up to the ceiling. _Bored_ , he thought. Sherlock's mind began to flood with similar thoughts.

 _Why is everything so boring? Is there more to life than this? Will something interesting ever happen?_ Sherlock sighed. _Perhaps not._

* * *

"I'm home!" Mr Holmes called as he waltzed through the front door at approximately 21:39 that night. The man took off his coat and put his car keys in the 'key bowl', the loud clink filling his ear drums in the silent corridor. He paused. "Christine?" Mr Holmes called again.

"In here!"

He finally got the reply he longed for and followed the sound of his wife's voice into the lounge. Upon seeing her, he smiled and joined her on the sofa. "Hello, my love." He kissed her softly on the cheek.

"How was work?" Mrs Holmes asked sweetly.

"Not too bad." He stretched. "I have an awful headache though."

Christine eyed her husband, it being the first time she'd properly looked at him since he'd walked in. Her facial expression changed suddenly, going from looking concerned to being alarmed.

"I'm phoning an ambulance."

* * *

Mycroft sat at his desk, thinking about how different things would once he moved out. He sighed and rubbed his temples, overthinking would get him nowhere. Just as he began to stand, his laptop started to notify him that he had a Skype video call coming through. Mycroft grinned and clicked the 'Answer' button.

"Well hello there." Mycroft rested his head on his hands.

"I know I said I wasn't going to Skype you tonight, but if I have to even think about Algebra ever again, my head is going to explode."

Mycroft chuckled. "Oh that's quite alright, it's a lovely surprise. Besides, I don't exactly want your head to explode, Gregory. That would be quite unfortunate."

The other boy smirked. "You know," he began, "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

Mycroft blushed. "I've definitely said nicer things."

"I'm just teasing you!" Greg smiled. "No need to get all defensive, even if it _is_ really cute when you do."

Mycroft coughed to force his embarrassment away and decided that it was time to change topic. "So when can I see you?"

* * *

Sherlock got up from his bed and headed to the bathroom. However, as soon as Sherlock opened his bedroom door, blue flashing lights caught his eye. Something was wrong. The curly headed boy moved quickly to the top of the stairs so he could see better. He spotted that the front door was open, and his mother was grabbing her coat. Sherlock felt an instant 'deja vu'. _Euros._ Sherlock shook the thought away, it wasn't her this time.

"Mummy!" Sherlock called down the stairs, and Mrs Holmes turned at the voice and met her son's eyes.

"It's okay, Sherlock." Christine spoke calmly. "I'm going to go to the hospital, it's your father, he's had a stroke."

Sherlock's heart stopped.

"Sherlock, listen to me. Everything will be fine. You need to stay here with your brother, but keep your phone on and I'll keep you updated."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Honey, please.." His mother's voice faltered sightly.

Sherlock nodded. "Okay." His voiced cracked.

"I love you." She spoke once more and then she was gone.

Sherlock rushed to the window and looked out at the ambulance to see it hadn't driven away yet. The doors of the ambulance were still open and Sherlock could see his father lying inside. Sherlock stared down at his elder to see him lift his arm weakly, and wave up at Sherlock. Sherlock waved back frantically. The paramedics shut the doors of the vehicle and before he knew it, Sherlock was waving to an empty pavement.

Sherlock realised he'd been holding his breath, and he released it, panting. Tears had started building up in his eyes, blocking his sight. He stood still for a moment, replaying the scene that had just passed. Sherlock shook his head, _what am I supposed to do?_ He thought. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. _Mycroft!_

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted, practically sprinting down the hallway to his brother's room.

"Mycroft!"

"MYCROFT!" He arrived at his brother's door and pounded it with his fist. "Mycr-"

"What?" Mycroft opened the door quickly, causing Sherlock to almost fall into his brother's room as he'd been knocking eagerly. Mycroft took one look at his brother's face and his heart sank. "What's wrong?" Mycroft panicked.

"Daddy's had a stroke." Sherlock's voice broke, and with that he began to sob. He was unable to hold it in any longer.

Mycroft froze for a second, stunned at the news he'd just received from his younger brother. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "It'll be okay, come on now. Our father is the strongest man we know. Everything will be alright." Mycroft whispered into Sherlock's messy hair, trying to convince himself as well as his brother.

"Everything will be okay."


End file.
